Showing posts with label Canary Wharf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Canary Wharf. Show all posts

Friday, 13 December 2013

The Narrow - Limehouse


Boats have been up and down the Thames for hundreds of years. Tell that to my Mum. Face pressed to the glass of The Narrow's conservatory, eyes swinging like a cat watching fish, it wasn't until the main course that the boat-by-boat commentary stopped. Most people would put it down to the wine, but then I know her better than most. Not that The Narrow - a gastropub in Limehouse Basin literally inches from the river - doesn't offer impressive views. As we sat, a low December sun sank through a brilliant blue sky that morphed through orange, pink, and purple to the black of night. Meanwhile, the lights of Canary Wharf gently flickered in to life, streaming luminous rays of colour out across the water and the dark heart of London below. I watched the beauty of this spectacle truly captivated, my eyes struggling to capture its majesty through a pint and three glasses of Malbec. So, of course, I made sure that I viewed it all through the lens of Instagram. I ignored the boats.

The Narrow is a Gordon Ramsey 'pub' with a capital GASTRO. I doubt you'd ever feel comfortable dropping in for beers after work; although they do run a weekly pub quiz so perhaps it's only at the weekends that those wearing walking boots and combats feel awkward. The range of beers on offer was poor. I settled for a Camden Pale Ale (4.9%) - not at all an inferior drink, but I'm sure it was only one of the two decent beers on offer. The food, on the other hand, was almost as good as the view. A salmon starter was overpowered with beetroot and horseradish - exactly how I like it. The beef of the roast was cooked to perfection: lifted from the oven, plated, and delivered in the seconds needed to keep the meat pink yet warm. The classic trimmings of carrot, parsnip, yorkshire, and roast potatoes were let down slightly by a rogue piece of broccoli, tougher than the bagged stuff from Lidl I have in the freezer. This theme continued in to the desert, where an amazing artery-clotting cream accompanied a delicious tart, soiled by a pear that a knife - let alone a spoon - couldn't dent. Bizarre.

Minor errors aside, The Narrow is a great place for a Sunday dinner. In the summer, I can imagine it's heaving and hot, but in the autumn and winter, and after a ten mile walk, the views and food were just what was needed.

Thursday, 10 October 2013

Oktoberfest - Millwall Park

Millwall Park, London, E14 3AY

Oktoberfest is a model of German efficiency. In Theresienwiese the streets are emptied, the sign-posts clear, the Metro policed, all in an effort to make the punters flow to the beer and the beer flow in to the punters. Inside the Hippodrom, the brown-shirted security parade to the sound of the Bavarian band, dirndl-clad women dance a procession of maß between the tables, and even the toilets are subjected to a fully marshalled one-way system. Vorsprung durch Technik!

As with any celebration of drink, Oktoberfest was destined for export and now every September large tents filled to bursting with aggressive Australians and vomiting Americans can be found across the globe. That said, a visit to London's Oktoberfest in Millwall Park on a Thursday night was a relatively sedate affair. Not a fist-throwing Antipodean insight. Nor many people of any nationality for that matter, fist-throwing or not. Perhaps it was the location - two stops shy of Greenwich on the DLR - perhaps because it was a week night, perhaps a lack of interest or a lack of marketing. Regardless of the reason, there were yards and yards (and yards) of clean, polished trestle collecting dust under the roof of the giant marquee.

The lack of interest did nothing to dull the noise and as the beer flowed and some tables began to fill, the atmosphere definitely improved. Full, this would be the real thing. Tall beers, girls in costume, overly loud German drinking music blasting from a live band, and those crazed looking old people who dance to every song. It's a shame the beer was served in plastic steins.  

Sitting at the front of the tent, behind the velvet rope of the VIP (thanks to those good folks at Pitman's People*), I had no idea whether the experience of the hoi polloi was a good one. Those dancing in the mud seemed to be having a good time and ours wasn't bad either. Granted, the beer left a lot to be desired; but then you don't visit Oktoberfest for the beer, more the effect it has on you. The food though was remarkably good. Classic German fare of frankfurter, boiled sausage, schnitzel, pretzel, chips, and cold potato and chilli. Enough carbohydrate to absorb the alcohol and enough salt to make you thirsty for more.

Oktoberfest has now left London. If you can't make it to Munich next year, stay in London for a small taste of what you're missing.

*Disclaimer: I was invited to attend Oktoberfest by Pitman's People. They paid for the food, the beer, and sat with me to make sure I had a good time.